


The Dowager Queen

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [9]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Falling In Love, Fourth Age, Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Marriage, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Regret, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: Indis, Princess of the Vanyar, Queen of the Noldor. Lonely, grieving, and unbroken. She will not accept this fate. Gap-filler for A New Day, but *mostly* stands alone.





	The Dowager Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Indis is a good woman who deserves better. Also, this preceded my Marred-Verse Indis story by like 4 months so stop judging me.

_Dear Ammë,_

_Arfin says you don’t like uninvited visitors, so I am writing to tell you that I have been permitted to return to life. If you would allow me to visit you, I would be very grateful. If you cannot stand to see me, well, I suppose I can understand that._

_Yours,_

_~~Fingolfin~~ Nolofinwë_

_\--_

_Dear Ammë,_

_I am sure you have heard by now that they have finally allowed Nolvo to return to life. I would be very grateful if you would see him. Just once. I think he worries we don’t want him back any more than Fëanáro, and it simply isn’t true. For me, anyways. I suppose I know little of what you think, these days._

_Yours,_

_Arafinwë_

_\--_

_Amya,_

_I have returned. I am told you do not take visitors, so accordingly I am not offering. Please feel free to visit me at your earliest convenience. I have recused myself from court, so you will not have to trouble yourself with travelling all the way to Tirion._

_Lalwen_

_P.S. Yes, I have changed my name. No, I am not open to suggestions._

_\--_

_Queen Indis of the Noldor, Princess of the Vanyar,_

_Hello, my name is Gil-galad, and I am your great-grandson. Findekáno was my father, and I was born in Beleriand. I am only recently arrived in Valinor (the short way), and am trying to make connections with what remains of my family here as best I can. This includes you as well. Although I know you have recused yourself from elven society, it seemed rude to skip your name over in the list of my relations._

_Best wishes,_

_Ereinion Gil-galad Artanáro_

_\--_

_Dear Indis,_

_Hello Indis, it is Finrod again. Amarië and I very much appreciated the Vanyarin poetry collection you sent us, as well as the peach preserves. We are hoping to make it up to see you next summer, if you would allow it. We will be in Valmar anyways, visiting her family, and thought we would make a trip of it. Enclosed is a first edition (it is not even in the royal library yet!) of a brand-new book that might be of some interest. You mentioned to me that you were interested in men, even if you have never met one other than Tuor, and this text provides a different perspective than any others you will have read. It is a biography of the mortal queen Haleth, written by our very own Morifinwë Carnistir (though he is shy about it). I think it is quite good. I always knew his gossipy ways (and endearing love of mortals) would serve him well._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Ingoldo_

_\--_

_Dear Ammë,_

_I don’t know what to do. Fingon today announced to me his intention to marry Maedhros. I was angry with him, and cruel. I regret how I said it, and yet I cannot reconcile in my mind my brave and brilliant son with this mistake. The Noldor do not marry their cousins. I suppose, technically, that they are only half-cousins, which genetically makes them more like second-cousins, but that is beside the point. And anyways, it is Maedhros. Maedhros committed all of the kinslayings. Maedhros committed suicide. Maedhros is covered in the blood of the innocent and the guilty. But, well, we were kinslayers too, I suppose. I do not think I would be so angry if he were not Fëanáro’s son. Is this how you felt when I decided to follow him to the ends of Arda? If so, I would like to apologize profusely for ever being such a fool._

_Yours,_

_Fingolfin_

_\--_

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_The following letter is notice of the wedding of Fingon Nolofinwion and Maedhros Fëanorion. The grooms apologize for the short notice, and for not inviting you to the ceremony, and send their love. They are very happy, and are not taking either guests or gifts at this time._

_Best wishes,_

_Maedhros & Fingon_

_\--_

_Dear Indis,_

_I miss you._

_\--_

_Dear Indis,_

_I wish you would come and visit._

_\--_

_Dear Indis,_

_Sometimes I think we let our mistakes define who we are for the rest of our lives, and as elves, that can be a very long time indeed._

_Yours,_

_Arafinwë_

_\--_

_The following is official notice that_ **Curufinwë Fëanáro** _will be returned to life, by order of Námo. As an interested party (Parent/Descendent/Sibling/Spouse) you are receiving this notice in order to prepare for his/her/their return to life. Please ensure he/she/they is met, robed adequately, and resettled._

_\--_

_Ammë,_

_I think Fëanor and I are finally becoming brothers, after all these years. I was so afraid of what would happen if I saw him again, and I am now so relieved I could cry. I did cry. It finally feels as if the family is whole again. I wish you and Atar- and Míriel- were here to see it._

_Fingolfin_

_\--_

_Dear Indis,_

_Now that it is all out in public here, I can finally write to tell you about Celegorm and Oromë (I hope I will precede the strength of Amanyar gossip). You asked me to fill you in on how my cousins were doing, since none of them ever write, and so it was weighing on me that I never told you that Celegorm was in a relationship with Lord Oromë. Well, he is! They have been together since the Years of the Trees, apparently, but fought over a great many things, and eventually separated shortly before Beleriand. Lady Vána knew the whole time, and seems to have struck up an odd friendship with Celegorm and Aredhel. That is not even the only news (things have been terribly eventful around here lately). Aredhel received the news yesterday that our campaign to convince the Valar to release Lómion (her son) has been successful. And, on top of all this, Celegorm and Oromë have been working to try and convince the Valar to finally confront their part in all the suffering Morgoth caused. Oromë believes that their inaction caused the deaths to be far greater than they would have been if the Valar had taken to the field to defend Eru’s children, or even acted indirectly, as Ulmo did. I am not sure how much progress they will make with this, but I wish them all the success in the world. We here in Tirion have worked so hard to heal, it seems a shame that others have not done the same. I will try to keep you up to date on their endeavours._

_All the best,_

_Ingoldo._

\--

Indis did not directly go to petition the Valar. She simply took herself to the home of Vairë, a great palace of marble and gold built directly into the mountain face, set up camp outside the front gate, and refused to leave. The Quendi knew they were not permitted admission here, and, since it was so close to the domain of Vairë’s husband, were often afraid to even come close. Only maiar passed, staring, and, presumably, brought the word of her presence to their mistress. Still, none came to speak to her until the third day. 

“Lady Vairë asks that you leave,” one of them told her, their form flickering in shape and opacity as they hovered in the air in front of her. 

Indis put on her most queenly face. “Tell her that I am not going anywhere until she lets me see Míriel.”

“Please,” the maia said, plaintively. 

“No.” Indis pointedly looked back at her embroidery, and ignored them. She was no Míriel, but her skill with a needle was second to few, now that Míriel was gone, and she had worked with the best, after all. She hoped Celegorm would not thing she was overstepping, but in the old days, before Valinor, fine textiles had always been one of the gifts given to new members of Míriel’s clan, for there was a long line of skill before their Therindë, and Indis did not think Valar would be exempt from the old tradition. She had always thought of Celegorm as Míriel’s grandson most of all of them, and it felt important to her to pass down what she could to him, just as she had tried to do for Fëanáro. Without Míriel there, her lesser works would have to be enough. 

At the end of the first week, Vairë herself came to ask Indis to leave. 

Indis took one look at her and said, “absolutely not.”

“Lady Indis-”

“Queen Indis, or Princess, if you would rather. Dowager Queen, if we must. Queen Mother. And I say to you as I said to your maia. I am going nowhere until I see Míriel. The only way you can make me leave is to have your husband do it for you.”

As though the Noldor would allow Námo to take their queen straight from the blessed lands, when she was of sound body and mind. For a second time. She thought that Fëanáro’s lingering anger over Míriel’s death combined with fresh rage in her own children might be enough to set the whole world ablaze with it all. For a second, her mind drifted into a vision of her children and Míriel’s, face twisted in the rage she had seen in them so many millennia earlier. She shook her head to clear it.

“Indis, dear child, there are secrets in these walls that no elf should know.”

Indis pointedly ignored this remark. “Does Míriel even know I am here? Or are you keeping that from her too?”

Vairë looked guiltily down at her hands. “I mean you no ill, child.”

“Well then, I suppose you shall just have to put up with me staying here until you allow me to see her.”

Vairë went, and did not come back. On the twelfth day, another maia, this one in the form of an elderly mortal man, sat down and joined her. 

“If you are here to convince me to leave, it is not going to work.” She was running low on perishable food, but she had made enough lembas to last her a year. Hopefully, if it went longer than that, someone would notice she was missing and come looking. It had taken Fingon a century of harassing the Valar to get what he wanted, and while that was by no means what Indis wanted, she had nothing but time.

“I am not,” he said, pulling out a pipe from the folds of his long robes, and lighting it. Indis returned to her embroidery. Since it was for Oromë, she was doing a full forest scene, tiny creatures across what was essentially a massive handkerchief. 

They had been there half an hour, the maia blowing smoke figures in increasingly complicated shapes when she snapped, “well, if you are staying, you might as well share.”

He seemed confused, for a moment, and then passed her a pouch of pipeweed. She passed it back, since she didn’t have a pipe, and went up the nearest tree to convince it to give her some wood for carving. She had brought her whittling knife with her, and she had plenty of time to figure out how to make a pipe with it. The knife had been a gift, from Fëanáro, when he was not even an adult, and it had taken some effort on her part to keep it preserved all these years. Though it had never become dull. Even millennia after he had made it, it was never dull. 

The maia came back every day after, sharing his pipeweed with Indis, and saying nothing at all. In a sense, she supposed he had joined her protest. He brought her cheeses and preserved meats, fresh fruits and vegetables. She wondered which Vala he served. Whoever they were, they must have been disappointed in his lack of service. 

“Why are you here?” She finally asked him, after more than a month. 

He shrugged vaguely. “When I walked with Nienna, before the sun, I came to know Míriel well. I think she would want this thing that you are trying to give her.”

“Myself?”

“Freedom. As much as she can have it.”

In the end, Indis and Olórin camped in front of Vairë’s gates for six months. Well, Indis stayed for the six months. Olórin came and went as he liked, but returned often. It resolved that he, like so much of Indis’s family, had been on the far shore and had seen much of the darkness there. His assessment of the matter seemed little different from theirs. 

“It might be a happier world directly under the guidance of the Valar, but it might be lesser still if everyone was in Valinor. There was worth on those shores, people and places and ideas. Justice and innocence and goodness made if anything brighter by their absence.” He brought his pipe back up to his mouth and blew another smoke ring. “I don’t regret going. Eru’s children have the capacity to be greater than I could ever have imagined, in the little, insignificant ways that are so easy to forget.”

“Do you miss it?”

Olórin shrugged. “I miss my friends. I don’t know if that’s the same thing.”

Indis missed her friends too. She missed Míriel, who had wanted so badly to be a mother, ever since they were girls, and had never had the chance. Míriel, who loved thunderstorms and the smell of the land after rain. Míriel, the only one of her family to come to Valinor. Míriel, who had loved Finwë. Míriel, who had loved her too, once. She missed Finwë, who had been a fool, but a well-meaning one. Finwë, who had not liked thunderstorms but had gone out in them for Míriel. Finwë, who loved slow dancing and sweet wines and always used his teeth to start peeling oranges. Finwë, who had held more than enough love in his heart for both of them. 

“Why are you here?” He asked her, softly. He had never asked before.

Indis folded her hands carefully in front of her. “There are a hundred answers I could give, but the simplest one is this. I miss her. I miss my friend. Anything else either of us got out of it, them allowing her to see Fëanáro, perhaps, or him forgiving me for my part in her captivity, or finally getting to know what she thinks of all this, pales in comparison to how much I miss her.”

Olórin reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “Were you and she-”

Indis shrugged. “I wanted to be. I have no idea what she would have thought of that. Of me. I wanted both of them. And I tried my best. I did try. To look after Fëanáro, and his boys too. It was not enough, and nor should it have been. I always have paled in comparison to her. They deserved better, the three of them. Finwë deserved Míriel’s wisdom and wit and courage. Fëanáro deserved his mother’s touch. Míriel deserved the chance to be free, to make her family like she had always wanted. That I profited from their ill fortune, in having a love and children in their place, are things I shall have to bear the guilt of for the rest of my life. I only hope that they can forgive me. I do not deserve it. I never have, but- well. It has been a long time since someone has forgiven me.”

“Indis,” Olórin said, suddenly sharp. She looked up, teary-eyed, to see Vairë’s doors slowly swing open before her. Through them, she could see nothing but blackness. She stood, shaky on her feet, and turned to the maia. 

“Thank you, for everything you have done for me. If I do not return, wait a few months and then pass the message on to my children. Please. All five. They deserve to know the whole truth, and I am so tired of hiding from them.”

He nodded once in acknowledgement, and Indis, steeling herself against what was to come, closed her eyes and walked straight into the blackness. It was warm, but not hot, and the air was still and smelled faintly of burning incense. She wondered when the last time was that the doors had opened. She heard them slam shut behind her, and involuntarily flinched. 

“This way, please,” a maia in the form of a dragonfly-elf said, tiny, delicate wings sending them flying ahead of Indis, the only light in the void. She wondered if this was what it was like to be dead. Míriel would know. 

They led her past closed doors set in no particular wall, behind which she could hear the sounds of looms and spinning wheels being worked away at. Finally, they arrived at a door, at the end of a corridor of open doors leading into empty rooms, and touched the handle. It swung open. 

Míriel’s room- it must have been Míriel’s room- was barren, for a place that had been her home for more than three ages. There were a couple of embroidered pillowcases, done by Míriel’s hands, but only one decoration on the walls. A drawing, in a child’s shaky hand, of a white-haired nís and an elfling, hand in hand. There was just that stroke of overconfidence in the drawing, knowledge that he was precocious, that told Indis exactly which child had drawn it. Not that there was ever any doubt, but it was always good to know she could tell the children’s work apart, even after all these years. It took Indis a second to notice Míriel herself. 

She was almost spirit-like, even reborn. Indis thought that if she touched her too forcefully, she might vanish. Her skin and hair, always white, were almost see-through, like plain cotton washed a hundred times, scrubbed hard. She looked up from her mirror at the sound of the door closing behind Indis. 

“Vairë said you’ve been here for months,” she murmured, voice still terribly quiet. She wasn’t better. Why wasn’t she better?

“You’ve been here for centuries.” She had been there for more centuries than Indis had months. More millennia than Indis had months. 

“She didn’t tell me you were here until today,” Míriel continued, ignoring the interruption. “I said- I said I wanted to see you. I’ve said I wanted to see people before, but she always said visitors were forbidden. Sometimes, I think I should have stayed with her husband. At least there, I might have been able to see Fëanáro. I would never have left if I’d known he would follow so quickly after. Then Finwë would have been able to come back to you. And you would have been happy.”

Indis, unable to hold back any longer, threw herself to her knees before Míriel. “I’m sorry, Therindë. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I promised to look after them, and I ruined everything. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know what it would mean for you, when we-”

Míriel silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips. “Indis. Look at me.” Indis looked up at her, into those sad, beautiful eyes. “Indis- I can never walk among the living again. Not really. I have tried. The Valar have tried. All of them. Everything they know. Whatever is wrong with me is nothing they can fix. Even if you never had anything with Finwë, I would not have been able to come further than this. And you tried to look after them. I know. Without your children, Fëanáro would have been very alone. Thanks to you, he had equals. Friends. Brothers and sisters.”

Míriel was an extraordinary nís. “I don’t think he appreciated it very much.”

“No, he wouldn’t have. But one only needs to look at them now to see family. Real family. Our sons, our grandsons, and their sons also. Family.”

“And us,” Indis’s tongue said, betraying her. 

Míriel only smiled. “Yes, and us.”

She knelt beside Indis, and took her in her arms. Indis whispered, “I missed you. Every day.”

Míriel returned the sentiment, in that easy way of hers, and seemed about to elaborate when another, stronger pair of arms encircled them both. Indis knew it could not be real, but she still muttered his name, letting his absence flow over them both.

“Hello my loves,” Finwë replied, in her ear, and Indis had to muffle a shriek in Míriel’s collar. She could feel his breath tickling at her skin. 

Míriel pulled back, sitting on her heels, and laughed herself sick. 

“You thought I wasn’t real?” Finwë asked, sounding hurt. He was even more transparent than Míriel was.

“You’re dead!” Indis told him, on the off-chance he might have forgotten. He nodded, soberly. 

“This place is half way. Dead and alive. We have two lives between the three of us, but it doesn’t matter-”

“He can be here,” Míriel interrupted, with a smile. “That’s the secret Vairë doesn’t want getting out. Here, none of us are really alive, yet-”

“All of us are really alive.” Indis finished the thought for her. Then she reached over, grabbed Finwë by the collar, and gave him the kissing of his life. It had been so, so long. Kissing him felt like finally coming up for air after centuries of drowning. Kissing Míriel, a second later, was even better.

Finwë sat back on his heels, and laughed, just as Míriel had done. He never took his hand off the small of Indis’s back. 

“I never thought you would both want this too,” he said, after they pulled back. The laughter was not humiliating- he seemed gleeful. 

“I wanted her before I wanted you,” Indis said, mostly to take a chunk off of his ego. Finwë just laughed again, bright and free. Míriel kissed the smile off his lips, and she was smiling too. For one glorious second, it was perfect. And then Indis remembered why she was there. Her face fell, and then instantly, two pairs of hands were on her. 

“Indis,” Míriel murmured, graceful hands pushing Indis’s hair out of her face. She looked away, to avoid meeting Míriel’s eyes. 

“I’m here- Míriel, I came because the family is reuniting, is finished reuniting, and I wasn’t part of it. I failed them. All of our children, and grandchildren, and- I failed them. They made it, but I never helped them. Eru- Fëanáro probably still thinks I hate him. But I don’t. I never have. I’ve never really known what to do with him, but he is my son. My son. Our son. All my children think I hate them. But I don’t. I never have. I couldn’t. But it was so hard. So lonely. I lost everything, and those I had left- I couldn’t even look at them without seeing what I’d lost. I’ve ruined everything.”

Míriel seized her by her shoulders. “Look at me!” Indis met her eyes, suddenly hard and focused. “You can still fix it, Indis! You can go out there, and be a parent for our children now. We can’t. I don’t think I could last more than an hour out there, and Finwë certainly can’t. But you can. You can. We don’t need you to fix them. They don’t want that. They just need you to be there. To see them. You can do that. I know you can.”

Indis shook her head. She couldn’t. She couldn’t-

“Indis,” Finwë murmured, rubbing her back soothingly, “aurnya. You don’t deserve to have to go through this alone.”

“I made myself alone,” Indis whispered, “I didn’t have to be alone.”

“It’s not your fault, dear one.” Finwë said. “Not your fault. If I’ve learned anything by spending all my time with the dead, it is that sometimes we must heal ourselves, not just others. Blaming ourselves can only hurt everyone.”

Indis let them hold her, for a long moment, shaking with her tears. It had been so long since there had been someone to look after her. Only she and Ingwë had come to Valinor, of all their cousins and respective siblings, and they had not been close since he had insinuated that she ought to cut ties to those of her children who had gone to Beleriand. Indis had told him she would die first, and then, with no husband, no parents, no cousins or siblings, she had found herself entirely without support. Too tied to those who had left to find friends, but not tied enough to have gone with them. She had gone first to Findis, but it had been so hard. Every time she looked at her, Indis could see little Fëanáro bending over his new baby sibling, Findis holding Nolofinwë in turn, saying in her little voice that she didn’t want another brother and to put him back please. So, she had gone, and made her own place, away from even those she loved, and tried to forget. 

When she finally stopped crying, Finwë was cradling her to his broad chest, and Míriel was running skilled fingers through her hair, making tiny, delicate Noldorin braids.

“Silver,” Finwë said, “you should braid silver in. No point in using gold. It would pale in comparison to her hair.”

Míriel hummed in acknowledgement. “Could do. Or I could get ribbons in a hundred colours, and plait them in. That would suit. But for you, silver and gold both. For each of us.”

It was purely hypothetical. She had no ribbons, and even if she had, they wouldn’t have been able to braid anything into Finwë’s hair, since he didn’t really have any. But it was a good dream, better than most. The three of them, together, in their finest clothes, each one wearing a ring of gold, hair braided in the Noldorin style. Crowned, maybe. Their children around them. Fëanáro saying something clever, and Arafinwë reminding him to be kind, above all else. Findis and Nolofinwë, speaking of greater philosophy, and Lalwen off who knows where, getting herself into trouble. It was a kind dream, and it pained her to let it go. 

“Míriel,” she said, after a long breath, “you said you thought you could go outside for an hour?”

Míriel moved on to another braid, and said, “maybe. No more. And I would be in bed for days after. I couldn’t get far from here. Well, I suppose My Lady could take me, but she never goes far from here, save to her husband’s realms. Never anywhere I would want to go.”

For once in the past four ages, maybe in her whole life, Indis knew something Míriel didn’t. In hindsight, it was not all that surprising. The plan was too abstract a thing to weave in a tapestry.

“Míriel, the family and the Valar are having a meeting. Everyone. Sometime soon, now. Everyone will be there, and Vairë will have to go.”

Míriel quirked her head, oddly. “Why should I go?”

“Curufinwë,” Finwë said, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did.

“He’ll never hear it from me,” Indis told her, “but from you- If you were there, maybe- maybe I could fix it.”

Míriel stopped braiding, and laid her head on Indis’s shoulder. “And then never see him again. It would hurt so much, Indis. I don’t want to lose him again.”

Indis was very, very slow to anger. And she did not think she had felt this angry since Míriel had first died. “No! A pox on that! A thousand poxes on that! I shan’t have it. Vairë let me come here. I haven’t seen anything other than Finwë. No other secret. She ought to let Fëanáro have the same. He’s been wanting it all his life- since before he even knew it was something he could want.”

The curse was an import from Beleriand. Lalwen had introduced it, and Indis had found it remarkably useful over the years.

“How will you make that happen?” Finwë asked, softly. He reached around Indis to hold Míriel tight. 

Indis considered. “Well, to start with, I shan’t leave here until Vairë agrees to it.”

Finwë kissed her, and his eyes laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Aurnya means my sunshine, or my morning, I believe. It’s a reference to Indis being Golden. Olórin is Gandalf’s ‘real’ name. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. Happy Tuesday to everyone else.


End file.
